Memory and Barefootin'

Most of you will remember that a fair number of years ago I took a Jerry Lucas weekend seminar on memory training. Unfortunately, I can’t remember what year that was, but so what? The important thing is that the seminar greatly inhanced my memorization abilities. Whereas before the presentation my memory was just good, afterwards it was, and remains, great.

I’ll always remember (you see, it worked) that he opened his presentation in the Anaheim auditorium by asking everyone that had introduced themselves to him just before the course started that morning to stand up. So about thirty people, men and women, stood. Then he asked them to sit if he correctly called out their names.

He started pointing at people and calling out their names and they began to sit down. In the end one guy stubbornly remained standing. Jerry said to him something like, “Ben, isn’t your last name Brombaird?” “No, it’s Brumbard,” he said smugly. What kind of idiot parents name their kid Brumbard? Anyway, notwithstanding that one near-miss it was still an impressive performance and there was much more to come. All of which I was fortunate enough to grasp with relative ease.

So when I recently read in the Bahrain Daily News that over 100,000 visas had been issued to foreigners, from 46 foreign countries, who would descend upon this island to witness the annual Formula One race an idea entered my mind. I decided to meet this vast and varied horde at the airport and get to know them. At least by name--since I didn’t feel I’d have time to have lunch with them all.

And so I spent a good many hours over several days at the Arrivals Hall collecting these folks’ names and making the necessary picture-association with each name that would later allow me to remember the identity of each and every person. This would be fun. And pretty darn impressive.

The big day came and there I was, roaming before the massed grandstands armed with nothing but a megaphone. Thousands and thousands of my new friends gazed at me with wonderment. I boomed out instructions to them about first standing and then sitting as they were correctly identified. They stood right on cue and, coincidentally, the race started at that exact same moment. The roar of the many powerful engines was deafening. I mean, REALLY LOUD.

Nevertheless I started pointing and calling out names but two things went awry. First, no one sat down; second, after 30 minutes of screaming into my megaphone I was so hoarse that I could barely croak. Plus my ears were ringing, being so near the track. So, mystified and a little frustrated, I made what maybe in hindsight could be termed an error in judgement. What I did was, that I had become so miffed that I turned and hurled my megaphone at the nearest racer to me…and he swerved sharply.

I thought these guys were supposed to be highly trained professionals. So how do you account for the fact that this clown managed to take himself and seventeen other cars out of the race? The caution flags were out and, as I was being escorted away by overly-angry course marshals, I happened to notice that a great many of my new friends were somewhat overwrought as well, and were making menacing gestures towards me and shouting out various cuss words in their mother tongues. All of which I understood, through lip reading (I was stone deaf by this time), as I’m also something of a linguist.

As I watched the replay of the race on TV the next day through the bars of my cell my greatest feeling was one of puzzlement. First, what’s wrong with the human race? Second, why hadn’t anyone sat down? After all, I had called out well over 200 names. It was pure happenstance that every single name was either Baboo Singh or Apu Indiri. Not my fault. That’s just how they happened to be seated.

Let me be perfectly candid with you and admit that I am not opposed to your contributing to the Free Coach Pat Fund. But don’t bother to call because the warden says I probably won’t regain my hearing for another three months.
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Good news for all you folks who read last week’s blog and plan to arrive here and take up careers in Food Delivery. Not only do you get to ride your scooter a lot, I found out the other day that you also get to FIX YOUR VEHICLE should it weaken!

What happened was, I was walking on the narrow street to the Al Jazira market to get some pomegranate juice and ground rhinocerous horn, and in so doing walked right by the adjoining Hardee’s and Al Kabara Restaurants. And delivery persons had taken up about two curbside parking spaces in front and were working on about six different scooters.

These people were performing differing cures upon their transports but the one I found most interesting was the fellow who had a wheel off and was walking, barefoot, around on the rubber part of the tire, trying to get it to pop into place on the rim. I mean how many jobs out there (even if you could get them, which you can’t) allow you to work barefooted any time you deem it necessary?! How many Wal*Mart Managers do you see walking the aisles without shoes on? How many doctors do you observe listening to hearts through stethoscopes while unshodden? What a great perk. Remember how great summers were when you were little and went barefoot all the time? And do you remember the song, "Barefootin'"?

Also, in the few minutes that I stood watching (work has always fascinated me) I noticed that not a single passing car hit any of the delivery persons or their scooters! Oh, sure, there were some close calls. But let’s keep those close calls in perspective and just call them exciting workplace challenges. Think of the gratification and sense of accomplishment when you nimbly leap aside at the last possible second and that Lexus misses you by a good three inches! Yet another perk!
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What do you think the Pakistanis and Indians in the Gulf do on Friday, their day off? Your first guess was dead-on! Yes, they play cricket! In the various Gulf countries there are always vacant lots to be found and great numbers of these serve as cricket pitches for these cricket fanatics. No, you are not justified in labeling them as “insane” for loving cricket. Let’s just say that it’s a “curious” phenomenon.

After all, you can stay at bat for like three hours and score maybe 300 runs before having your wicket knocked off or something else as bad—like having a defender catch your fly ball. Barehanded, but not necessarily barefooted, of course. They don’t use gloves in cricket. Also, all balls are fair, even if they go behind you. Which of course sends you sprinting, your bat in hand, to what we would call second base. There, you leisurely wait at that wicket until another batsman eventually does something or other.

Games only last a few days, if you happen to have that much time. These guys don’t of course and have to play hurry-up seven-hour matches. It’s an exciting affair and no wonder they love it.

Finally. On defense, which would you rather be: a fast bowler or play silly mid-off? Those things are both real.

You’re wondering how much a cricket bat costs? Sun and Sand Sporting Goods in City Centre Mall was having a big sale recently and I went inside and mosied around, finally buying some red flip flops. But I saw some cricket bats and, curious, had a look. Not bad. On sale, you can snare one for about eighteen bucks. Shall I order you two?
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Less than a week ago I was shrouded in doom and gloom. You’ll remember that I told you our first Cup opponent, Nuwaidrat, was dangerous. Well, we stunk up the gym and lost to them. We had a game when not a single player had a good game, plus we were still without our leading Bahraini scorer. In the locker room after the game I didn’t even get to scream at the players, because both the Shaikh (who’s normally mild mannered) and Manager Hussain both did that very capably. It was neither pretty nor fun.

Last nite we got the yucky taste out of our mouths for the time being by beating Sitra by 25 points. We played well for three of the four quarters, which, for us, is improvement. We also had Mohd Hassan back and he scored about 25 points. I’d like to watch you try and guard him. Lamond also played with good energy and that always help. Though 36 or 37 now, he’s still talented. Played in NBA nearly 13 seasons.

We play Hala next Sunday. One very welcome development is that our Federation has brought in three very good referees from Turkey to work this Cup. Consequently, there are way fewer fouls and traveling calls made, and the players/coaches don’t have to worry about the usual stuff that happens in games here when locals do them. Also, stinkin Fadl—our old nemesis—is enjoying himself of late in Thailand.

Would you like me to arrange to have him send you a durian?